Sube Cane Part 34

"Uh--uh--over to Stu--Stucky Richards'."

"All right. You went over to Stucky's after lunch. Then what did you do?" Mr. Cane was going about it as he usually approached an unwilling witness.

"Pu--pu--played."

"You played! All right. What did you play?"

"Tu--Tu--Ten Knights in a Bu--Bu--Bar-room."

"What's that!" gasped Mr. Cane.

"I tu--tu--told you once!"

"All right--all right--how did you play it?" asked the frantic parent.

"It tu--takes too lu--lu--long to tell--"

A serious spasm prevented any further questioning for some moments. Then Mr. Cane tried again.

"What part did you take in this game?"

"It wu--wu--wasn't a game!"

"Well, what was it?"

"It was a mu--mu--mellerdrammer!"

Sube's father was becoming desperate. He had tried kindness without effect. Something must be done before it was too late. Perhaps intimidation would get something out of the boy.

"Sube," he began sternly, "I may as well tell you that you have been poisoned by something you have put into your stomach! If you will only tell me what it is perhaps I can save your life! If not, there's no telling _what_ may happen! Now, what have you been eating this afternoon?"

[Ill.u.s.tration]

But Sube was in the state where he would not thank anybody for saving his life. His response was listless.

"Nu--nu--nuthin'."

At this moment Mrs. Cane, who with Annie had been in constant attendance at the bedside of Cathead, whose malady seemed to be much more active than Sube's, came into the room.

"What did you do with the ten-pound sack of sugar Annie says you carried off?" she asked desperately.

It was necessary to repeat the question several times before she succeeded in obtaining a reply.

"Pu--pu--put it in the su--su--cider," Sube finally confessed.

"Cider!" cried Mr. Cane exultantly. "Have you been drinking _cider_?"

"A lu--lu--little."

"Where did you boys get cider?"

"Mu--mu--made it."

"Made it!" Mr. Cane could not believe his ears. "Made it? How could you boys make cider?"

The process was soon explained. But Mr. Cane was still in doubt. It seemed incredible that a little sweet cider could bring about such disastrous results.

"How much did you drink?" he asked at length.

"Just a lu--lu--little."

"But what was the sugar for?" Mrs. Cane persisted.

"Why, whu--when we made the cider it was swu--swu--sweet; but when we went to du--du--drink it, it was su--su--sour! So we put the shu--shu--sugar in it!"

"When did you make it?" asked his father.

"About tu--tu--two weeks ago--"

"T-w-o w-e-e-k-s!" gasped Mr. Cane as he fell across the bed in a state of total collapse. "Two weeks!--And hot weather at that!"

The telephone rang. Mr. Cane answered.

"h.e.l.lo!" he called. "That you, doctor?"

"Stomach pump? No, I guess not. They're about half-full of tepid soapsuds just now, and they seem to be doing very well without any pump at all."

Then Mr. Cane listened for a long time chuckling softly. At last he said:

"Well, don't operate, doctor! I've found your poison!"

"Hard cider!"

CHAPTER XXII

A SECOND-HAND WAR BABY

Sube Cane had never heard life defined as just one certain kind of thing after another, but he knew that it was so; for so he had found it. And, when, a few days after the final performance of Ten Knights in a Barroom, he had turned the house upside down hunting for his Wild West hat only to learn that his mother had given it away a few days before, he felt the tragedy of existence as never before.

"Gave it away!" he gasped in stricken tones. "What'd you do that for?"